


All a Lie

by Rhaized



Series: The Madonna and Baby [9]
Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Asriel dies (so Mrs. Coulter says), Confusion, Disappointment, Gen, Grief, Lyra learns who her parents are, Mother-Daughter Relationship, She is very emotional, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28583115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhaized/pseuds/Rhaized
Summary: "Mrs. Coulter, what's wrong?"This was most unlike her. Lyra got up out of her seat and floated over to the woman, putting a hand on her arm. Mrs. Coulter jumped at the touch, as if suddenly remembering where she was and what she was doing. Her clouded blue gaze found Lyra's, and they simply stared at each other for a moment, lost in a conversation beyond words and articulation.–or—While Lyra is living with Mrs. Coulter, one day the woman tells her the truth about her parents, and about the demise of one of them. Lyra is struck with more emotion than she could ever be prepared to deal with.
Relationships: Lord Asriel & Lyra Belacqua, Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter
Series: The Madonna and Baby [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998481
Comments: 17
Kudos: 60





	All a Lie

**Author's Note:**

> “It was all a lie.”  
> —His Dark Materials, Episode 2: “The Idea of North”

Lyra knew something was wrong when Mrs. Coulter arrived late to dinner one evening.

Mrs. Coulter was never late. Punctuality, as she said, was vital to success and to any burgeoning professional. To be on time was to be in control, to be respectful, to be prepared. It was not only expected but demanded, and being even just a few minutes late was unacceptable and the trait of an uncultured and ungrateful mind.

So to see Mrs. Coulter trudge through the balcony sliding door long past dinner had been served was disturbing to Lyra. Pan peeked up from her lap in his cat form to watch as the woman slowly closed the door behind her, golden monkey by her feet tilting his head up as she paused and simply leaned against the door.

“Mrs. Coulter?” Lyra called out, tentatively. She and Pan watched as the woman stayed against the door for a moment before turning back around, her mouth twisting into a smile but her eyes so incredibly and unbearably sad. 

"Hello, dear," the woman said as she took her seat at the table. She moved stiffly, like she was sore. Lyra wondered if something happened to her, like if she fell or hurt her foot. 

_But she doesn't play and run around the way we do,_ Pan thought to her skeptically, jumping down below the table as an ermine to talk to the golden monkey. He was downcast, too, albeit less so than Mrs. Coulter, which felt a bit strange. 

"Are you…okay?" Lyra asked her straightforwardly then as Mrs. Coulter reached for the glass of wine the server had poured for her. 

Mrs. Coulter paused right as the glass touched her lips. She gazed at Lyra over the brim of it with an expression Lyra just couldn't make out. "Yes. I'm quite fine."

"You don't _seem_ fine," Lyra commented, watching as Mrs. Coulter's hands almost _trembled_ as she attempted to cut some of the steak on her plate. She was all mixed up. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. Even the golden monkey wasn't acting himself as he lazily and distantly stroked Pan between his little ears, not bothering to chide him about this or that or ask questions about Lyra. 

Mrs. Coulter didn't deny it. As she continued to slice into her steak, her knife digging in harder and harder into the meat, she eventually stopped and set the cutlery down. She let out a shaky breath at that, too, as she pushed her plate away and then leaned forward to rest her head against her hands. 

"Mrs. Coulter, what's _wrong?"_

This was most unlike her. Lyra got up out of her seat and floated over to the woman, putting a hand on her arm. Mrs. Coulter jumped at the touch, as if suddenly remembering where she was and what she was doing. Her clouded blue gaze found Lyra's, and they simply stared at each other for a moment, lost in a conversation beyond words and articulation. 

"I need to tell you something, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter said after what felt like several minutes. She looked pained, as her eyes shifted from the table back to Lyra again.

Before she knew what she was doing, Lyra wrapped her arms around her, knowing nothing but the impulse for close contact during sad times such as these. Surprisingly, Mrs. Coulter accepted it and didn't protest. "Tell me what?" 

Mrs. Coulter was silent again as she returned the embrace and held Lyra close. The golden monkey was doing something similar to Pan, where he'd gathered him into his side and was petting the base of his little ermine back softly and methodically.

_This is strange,_ Pan thought to her, his eyes half-closed because it did feel rather soothing, after all. 

_I know,_ she returned, _also_ feeling rather pacified as she shifted to half-lay in Mrs. Coulter's lap as the woman began to rock her back and forth like a baby. No one had ever held Lyra like this before. It was so nice, as well as distinctly foreign. But she recognized it as out of character for Mrs. Coulter, who was generally warm but also so formal and proper. Lyra again realized that something had to be wrong. 

After a few more minutes passed, Mrs. Coulter let go. "We should go back inside for this. You've finished with your dinner already, haven't you?" 

"Yes."

"Alright then."

They moved back inside the flat, Mrs. Coulter's untouched dinner left on the balcony table for the servants to clear away later. They walked hand-in-hand, Mrs. Coulter's grip tight. It felt desperate, almost, as if she were afraid Lyra would slip away. But where else did Lyra have to go? What _happened_ to make Mrs. Coulter act like this? 

Once inside they settled down on the sofa, Mrs. Coulter on one end and Lyra in the middle closer to her. She turned to look at Lyra, and Lyra tucked her legs underneath her to face her. Their daemons settled on the back of the sofa, watching their humans intently. 

"Are you going to tell me what's happening now?" Lyra finally asked. 

Mrs. Coulter took a deep breath at that, considering Lyra for a moment. Her eyes moved up and down Lyra's face, examining her nose and her chin and her ears and her eyes. It was like she was memorizing her face, almost. 

"There isn't any easy way to say this," Mrs. Coulter began, her voice soft yet tense, "so I suppose I just have to say it."

_Oh, no,_ Lyra thought. She stiffened there on the sofa and felt Pan react just as strongly as she did. A million thoughts raced through her brain then, mostly about Mrs. Coulter kicking her out. She knew that she hadn't had the _easiest_ time adjusting to Mrs. Coulter's world, what with all the rules and structure and manners. Lyra grew up half-savage, really, as she'd explained to Mrs. Coulter that first night in the Grand Hall. Her old life didn't even seem to exist on the same earthly plane as this one, where there were fancy places to go and good-looking people to see and exciting things to experience for the first time. She'd _tried_ to follow the directions given to her but couldn't help it if she slipped or forgot or messed everything up. 

"I don't want you to kick me out," she blurted then without even realizing it. For her part, Mrs. Coulter's eyes widened as she gaped at her. 

"Pardon me?" 

"I know I break the rules a lot, but I'm trying!" Lyra continued passionately, her arms waving in the air. "I'm really sorry if I'm a bad kid sometimes. I'll try to be better. Oh, please, Mrs. Coulter, don't send me back or send me somewhere else!" 

"Lyra," the woman said then, reaching out to take Lyra's hands. Such _feeling_ danced behind the depths of her eyes. Lyra was so taken with it as they gazed at one another, both seemingly afraid of something they didn't want to say. "That's not what I want to talk about. I certainly don't want to send you anywhere."

"You don't?" Lyra echoed. 

"No," Mrs. Coulter insisted, and then her eyes glinted again. "And I hope you'll still want to stay after I tell you what it is I need to tell you."

That intrigued Lyra now. She supposed she should still feel anxious about whatever this looming _thing_ was. It was apparently so awful that Mrs. Coulter was worried Lyra wouldn’t want to live with her anymore. What could possibly be that bad, Lyra wondered? Mrs. Coulter was such a kind and caring lady, having taken her in as she had and bought Lyra everything she could ever think of. She was so smart, too, and fun to talk to and be around. Why would Lyra ever possibly want to leave?

“Lyra," Mrs. Coulter began, biting her lip, "your parents didn’t die in an airship accident like you were told.”

Lyra simply stared at her, temporarily frozen. She’d been expecting Mrs. Coulter to say something important, like that someone was hurt or some big change was coming. Maybe even that they were moving and had to leave the flat, possibly off to the North where they were closer to all the adventures anyway. But she certainly wasn’t expecting this.

“My parents?” she let out, finding herself simply gazing at the woman and feeling quite dumb in that moment.

“Yes,” Mrs. Coulter returned, watching her face carefully. It was like she was searching for something, or looking for a particular reaction. The golden monkey was watching Lyra, too, and she suddenly felt overheated at the intensity of their glares.

This was quite something. Lyra knew very little about her parents: only that they were a Count and Countess and had died on an airship accident far, far away when she was only six months old. No one had ever told her more than that, really, and she supposed she never asked. Her uncle could have told her more, but she hardly ever saw him when she was growing up and they'd lost contact since Lyra came to live with Mrs. Coulter. It was something she just didn’t think about that often. So to hear it here took her by surprise, and felt extra cutting since she hadn’t been bracing herself for it.

“Does that mean...they’re still alive?” she asked then, trying not to get her hopes up but, as Pan demonstrated with the way he quickly changed from an ermine to a red panda, that she ultimately was anyway.

Mrs. Coulter didn’t answer her at first. She continued to stare down at her coolly, collectedly, as if she were trying to analyze and solve a complicated math equation. She released Lyra’s hand and moved her own back to her lap, where she folded them. “Yes.”

_Yes,_ Lyra echoed in her mind, turning to look over at Pan. He looked at her too, his ears folded back, and then they both looked at Mrs. Coulter with wide, wanting eyes.

“Where are they?”

It was barely a whisper. Lyra found it hard to actually articulate, because again the entire ordeal was just so sudden and so out of what she’d expected that she didn’t really have a way to ground herself. Her heart was beating faster now, she noticed, and her mind kept spinning with even more questions than the one she’d asked. How did Mrs. Coulter know? Why was she choosing to tell her this now? How come no one _else_ ever told her, like the Master or Mrs. Lonsdale or Uncle Asriel? Was there something wrong with her parents? Was there something wrong with _her?_

Mrs. Coulter’s hands returned to Lyra as she moved to stroke her cheek. “They’ve been working.”

“Working where?” Lyra insisted, her eyes only widening now as she wiggled closer to Mrs. Coulter so that they were sitting practically knee-to-knee now and only a few inches apart. “Please tell me.”

Again such _pain_ coursed through Mrs. Coulter’s face at Lyra’s request, and she shuddered slightly at their close contact. She was very upset about something. That much was entirely obvious. But Lyra didn’t know _why,_ and to hear this talk of her parents...She had to know everything. In that moment, she wanted nothing short of the entire world.

“They’re explorers,” Mrs. Coulter said very slowly. “Adventurers. They’d traveled a lot before and after you were born.”

_“Who_ are they?” Lyra asked next, her body squirming around so violently that Mrs. Coulter had to reach out and press a hand down on her shoulders to keep her still, as she was shaking the furniture and their daemons were starting to wobble over the edge of the couch.

“Oh, Lyra,” the woman simply breathed, moving her other hand back to Lyra’s face. Her fingers trailed Lyra's nose and then her cheeks and then her jaw. She gazed at her hungrily, greedily, which felt strange and uncomfortable but it was second to Lyra’s burning curiosity and yearning to learn what it was Mrs. Coulter refused to tell her.

“Who are they?” Lyra repeated, scooting even closer, if that were possible. She gazed directly into Mrs. Coulter’s eyes, and Pan swore he saw the woman gulp. “My mother. Who is she?”

Mrs. Coulter stared back, a myriad of feelings fighting in her eyes again. There was pain, and fear, and guilt. Oh, such _guilt,_ which Lyra knew well from her own misdeeds and adventures but that never quite felt like _this…_

Unless…

"It's _you,_ isn't it?" 

Mrs. Coulter did nothing. She didn’t react, didn’t breathe, didn’t move. She did nothing.

It all made sense suddenly to Lyra then, in ways that it hadn't before. Mrs. Coulter coming to retrieve her from Jordan. Taking her in, buying her things, worrying about what she did, disciplining and lecturing her. Why would she do that for any old, random orphan, especially one as hard to manage as Lyra? She knew all too well that she was wild and disagreeable and a headache to deal with. Who else would take her in but her own, actual mother?

But, where had she been? That sentiment dawned on Lyra now as she stared over at Mrs. Coulter, who still didn’t say anything and was simply staring at Lyra again with an entirely unreadable expression spread across her smooth features. If Mrs. Coulter was her mother, then it means that she’d been missing from Lyra’s life all these years, to the point where some kind of cover story was made to intentionally hide the fact.

_Why would they do that?_ she asked Pan, and he didn’t know, but then they thought about the _other_ part of this entire ordeal.

“My father?” she asked then. They’d both seemed to silently accept it, the knowledge that Mrs. Coulter was Lyra’s mother. They didn't have to actually say it. Lyra could tell by the way Mrs. Coulter didn’t say anything further about it at all, and how she brought her hand up to touch her locket and then the ring on her finger before smoothing down her skirt. Mrs. Coulter wasn’t a nervous or squirrelly person. She was graceful and poised and entirely glamorous. This was her way of feeling nervous, of being anxious, of being _embarrassed,_ perhaps, or something else that Lyra at her age was not quite able to suss out.

Mrs. Coulter's lip twitched at the question as she spoke for the first time in several minutes. "If you had one guess, who would you think?" 

Lyra paused, her gaze finding Pan's as they both still teetered over all of this news. 

"Uncle Asriel." 

Of course it was. That solved the other great mystery of Lyra’s existence: why her uncle acted so strangely to her. He was rough and stern and unforgiving and mean. He’d never said one nice thing to her that she could ever remember, and he was always running off and _away_ from her to go do other important things that meant more to him than she did. At first she’d chalked it up to her being an insignificant part of his life as a niece he’d inherited after the aircrash, but now, as she and Pan thought about it, she started to wonder if it was more. Why, exactly, had he denied it? What else happened? What, again, was with the cover story? 

“He believed it was better for you not to know,” Mrs. Coulter said then, as if she could read Lyra’s mind. Lyra was still sitting very close to Mrs. Coulter, with her arms resting on her leg and their knees brushing. Lyra slowly retreated, claiming back her own space. She saw a flash of hurt cross Mrs. Coulter’s face before it was whisked away back to a cool and cold disinterest.

“But he...you,” Lyra stammered, looking at her again. “Why did you...where _were_ you?" It hurt, to say it out loud. Lyra's voice practically squeaked as she said it, and she knew that Mrs. Coulter noticed. "Where were you all this time? And why are you telling me this now?"

Mrs. Coulter was quiet again, her face tragic as it had been before, and then she said it: "Because your father died yesterday during his expedition to the North."

Again Lyra was struck. She felt cold, as her blood seemed to drain from her, while simultaneously flushed, as if she'd tumbled face-first into the flames of Mrs. Coulter's fireplace. Pan jumped down from the back of the sofa to sit on her lap now, his little panda face scrunched up with concern as he watched her wince away from him, from Mrs. Coulter, from _everything._

First she had to reckon with the understanding that her parents, after all this time, were _alive._ And that her mother was actually _here_ with her but hadn't actually _told_ her. She wondered, too, why they'd kept this from her, and where Mrs. Coulter had been. But now she had to accept that her father, in fact, _was_ dead—before she even knew he was her father. 

Lyra had parents but then one was taken away from her as soon as he appeared. 

"Darling," Mrs. Coulter started, leaning forward. 

"No." Lyra moved away then to the other end of the sofa, glaring at her mother with a newfound and overwhelming sense of hatred. This woman had _lied_ to her—not only for all these weeks living together but for her entire _life_ that they'd been apart for reasons she still hadn't been told. She had no right to do this, to just _drop_ it on her like this, and to be so _kind_ and _caring_ to her now as Lyra's entire being writhed in confusion and dumbfoundment.

Lyra was so upset and in such turmoil that she didn't even notice that Mrs. Coulter seemed sad, too, or remember how Mrs. Coulter hadn't initially wanted to talk with Lyra about it. And she didn’t even stop to consider that, as dishonest as Mrs. Coulter had been, perhaps she was lying. Lyra hadn't yet figured out the alethiometer, after all, so she had no way to determine what was true or not. 

The tears came in earnest now as Lyra hugged her knees. Pan tucked himself into the space between her and the sofa cushion, lifting his head to lick her cheek. Lyra leaned into him and his embrace while also aware of Mrs. Coulter getting up and coming closer. 

"Lyra," she said, softly, and as Lyra shook her head and cringed away, she repeated: "Lyra. Oh, Lyra."

It was strange to be in this situation. On the one hand, Lyra wanted nothing to do with Mrs. Coulter. She'd lied to her. Abandoned her. _Cheated_ her of a childhood of fancy parties and pretty toys and everything else it could have been with actual parents. But at the same time, Lyra needed her in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

“Come here, Lyra.”

“I _hate_ you.” Yet nonetheless Lyra fell into her arms, her body undergoing a great sob. 

Mrs. Coulter sat back on the sofa and wrapped her arms around her even tighter than before as she pressed her lips to Lyra’s head. “I know you do.”

“It’s not _fair,”_ Lyra gulped, embarrassed now as more sobs shook her and tears began cascading down her cheek and onto the back of Mrs. Coulter’s dress. Pan had shuffled himself behind her, avoiding the clutch of the golden monkey and taking shelter against her back as she took shelter against his.

They sat like that for a long time, with Lyra crying and eventually thrashing against Mrs. Coulter. She wasn’t trying to _hurt_ the woman, but she was sure it wasn’t exactly comfortable. Lyra was just a very physical person, and each thought of her uncle and her parents and what was happening around her was just too much to contain. She moved around so much and released so much energy that soon enough she was entirely exhausted and Mrs. Coulter was gently ushering her down the hallway. 

_I can’t take this anymore, Pan,_ Lyra thought to him, aware that he was somewhere behind her with the golden monkey. She was so tired now and was hardly awake as Mrs. Coulter laid her down not her own bed but on _Mrs. Coulter’s,_ and then pressed a quick sequence of kisses on her cheek and forehead before coaxing her under the covers.

“Just rest for a while now, darling,” Mrs. Coulter—Lyra’s _mother,_ she had to realize now—soothed. She made a soft shushing sound as her hand moved to clear the hair out of Lyra’s face and then stroke the top of her head. Lyra used to love it when she did this, as she’d gone her entire life without a mother’s touch. She just didn’t realize it was indeed her _own_ mother’s touch that she’d been deprived of for all this time.

She started sobbing again this time, not for her father but for all that time she’d spent huddled in her four poster bed at Jordan College thinking she had no family at all in the world except for her distant uncle when, really, she had a mother. She had a mother with beautiful blue eyes and perfect dark hair and hugs so soft and tight that they washed all of Lyra's worries away. 

“It was all a lie,” she murmured out loud, aware of sleep threatening to consume her as still her body quaked. “It was all a lie.”

“Shh,” Mrs. Coulter offered again, this time her voice breaking as Lyra continued to drift off and off into sleep until all she could feel was the vague presence of her mother, whose hand still moved so slowly and caringly across her head.

_It was all a lie,_ she thought once more before everything faded before her. _All a lie._

**Author's Note:**

> So, after writing a few crackfics recently, I wanted to return to some angst :D I've written about Asriel's death before in another of my fics, but there Mrs. Coulter didn't actually tell Lyra what their relationship was. I wondered what it would be like if she DID in such a scenario, and how emotional and upset Lyra would be. Lyra here may be a bit more angsty, but I just feel like this would be such a blow, especially given the way she reacted when she first heard he was her father in the show's version of events.... Anyway, I wanted to give it a whirl here, even if it has all the sad feels! Thank you so much for reading :)


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